The Florist Next Door
by MissyStrider
Summary: Your name is John Egbert and you might have a little schoolgirl crush on Dave.
1. Chapter 1

It's a warm, breezy afternoon in July, and Dave Strider is returning from his lunch break. You know this, of course, because you are watching him enter the store next door from the window of your place of employment. You watch Dave return from his lunch break every day. You just can't help it. You tell yourself it's just your mind wandering, that you're merely bored because there aren't any customers, but that's not it. You like watching Dave. It's something about the way he carries himself, maybe. Like he just doesn't give a shit. Maybe it's his shades. You've never seen him without them, even during the winter. Even when it's dark outside. There's a lot about Dave Strider that intrigues you. You've never even spoken to him.

Your name is John Egbert and you might have a little schoolgirl crush on Dave.

Someday, you think, you'll find a way to talk to him. Maybe he'll finally see you, instead of you just watching him through the store window. You wonder if he's ever caught you staring. You sure as hell hope not.

It's an unusually frigid, windy morning in September, and Dave Strider is just beginning his shift at the flower store, like usual. You, of course, are watching him as he unlocks the door and steps inside. You notice that his cheeks and nose are red from cold, and you kind of like the jacket he's wearing. It's red, and has a strange record decal on the front. Intriguing, as always. You wonder what sort of person Dave is. You can hardly even remember how you found out his name. Oh, that's right. You ran into each other once, outside the stores. Quite literally ran into each other. It must have been last December or so. You were carrying too many boxes of ink, which miraculously refrained from spilling all over the two of you, and Dave was on his phone.

Hardly an ideal meeting, but at least he knew who you were.

Or did he? Maybe he'd forgotten by now.

"Sorry, dude. Should've looked where I was going." He let out a dry chuckle, and you were lucky it was cold because otherwise he'd have noticed you blushing. "Dave Strider."

"John Egbert," you replied, letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

"Hey, you work at that tattoo parlor, don't you?" Dave asked, after the two of you had recovered from your little spill.

"Uh, yeah. You work at the flower shop, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh. Ain't manly or nothin', like I care though…" Was that…a Texan accent you were detecting? It seemed to come from nowhere. As did the only slightly-apparent blush creeping up Dave's face.

You tried to protest, insist that you didn't care what his fucking job was, but he was already gone. And you stood there and stared at the softly closing door of the flower shop like an idiot, completely dumbstruck.

Who was Dave Strider, anyway?

It's one of those days where it's cloudless and sunny, but manages to rain anyway. It's now March, and you're inwardly boasting over a year of pining after the mysterious florist next door. You don't really know what to do with yourself today, because you technically have the day off. Apparently, so does Dave, because you haven't seen him today.

For what seems like the first time ever, you leave the tattoo parlor while it's still light out. You walk and walk, alone with your thoughts and no destination in mind. Somehow, you end up all the way across town, finally stopping in the small park you cherished so much when you were younger. That same weird little spring-mounted pogo ride which you loved so much was still there. You never really figured out what sort of creature it was.

You stood there a moment longer, cherishing the distant memories you had of this place, before turning around and heading for the little coffee shop on the street corner. You didn't have much to do today, or ever, so your schedule on off-days consisted of finding little ways to distract yourself. You'd been to this little café once or twice before, sure, but it still felt alien to you. You'd barely taken a step inside when you froze in your tracks.

Dave. Dave Strider was sitting at a table across the room. He was _right there_.

He was with a girl.

A blonde, like him. She was pretty, and very mature-looking. She wore black lipstick and a black dress, with a pink belt and a pink headband.

You'd never even considered this to be a possibility.

Why not? Dave was obviously handsome. Probably funny. Of course he had a girlfriend.

Suddenly, Dave looked up. Right at you, actually. _Fuck._ You felt the blush creep up onto your face, so you did the only logical thing to do in such a situation.

You turned on your heel and walked right out that door and into the warm sprinkle of rain. You walked briskly back to the park and sat yourself down on a bench, cheeks still burning. You buried your face in your hands. You didn't know your crush was this bad.

Get yourself _together_, Egbert.

You chose this moment to ponder some major life decisions that might come into play in the near future. He saw you. You knew he did. Would he go out of his way to ask you about it? Or would he completely disregard it? You couldn't tell which was the lesser of two evils. Honestly, you were probably overthinking this whole thing anyway. Yeah, you probably were. You stood up from the bench, having satisfactorily proven yourself totally not obsessive. You started back to the tattoo parlor. You were sure you could find something to do. Something to keep your mind off Dave and his beautiful blonde girlfriend.

But you couldn't. You couldn't distract yourself enough today. _Fuck,_ why were you so infatuated with Dave?

Probably because of his fluffy hair. Probably because of his air of mystery. Probably because of his freckles, which you noticed after bumping into him all those months ago. Probably because of his voice. _Fuck,_ his voice.

Okay, okay, calm down, John. You buried your head in your hands and groaned. You never got this sappy about anything, not even your admittedly lame romcoms. Not even the last scene of _Con Air_ got you this hard.

Time to contemplate your next move. Drop by the flower store? "Accidentally" bump into him on his way back from lunch?

Never speak of this and keep admiring him from afar?

Most likely option C.

_Shit_. He's back. How long did you space out?

You watch him from the window. At this point, you couldn't care less if he saw you. Embarrassment be damned.

Shit_._

**_Shit._**

He's walking up to the tattoo parlor.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a warm, breezy afternoon in July, and you are returning from your lunch break. You know this because, well, you just had lunch. You catch that kid from the tattoo parlor staring at you again, but you know he can't tell because he doesn't look away. It's the shades, man. They're magical.

This guy looks at you a lot, actually. You don't know why you don't find it creepy. It's hard to stop yourself from smiling a little.

Maybe it's how you carry yourself. People are always saying you look confident. Maybe it's the shades? You never take them off. There's a lot about you that people find intriguing, if for the completely wrong reasons.

You find your mind wandering back to the kid in the tattoo parlor. Maybe he's just bored. There don't seem to be any customers around.

No, that's not it. Maybe he just likes watching you. Why? You don't really understand, but that's okay. You don't mind. You should; you've never even spoken to the kid.

Your name is Dave Strider and you're sort of fond of your little stalker.

What was his name again? You're pretty sure you know it, but you just can't remember. Damn. Someday you'll talk to him again, you're sure of it. Hopefully you remember by then. You wonder if he knows you see him looking at you. You sure as hell hope not. He'd probably get embarrassed, and you'd never see him again.

It's an unusually frigid, windy morning in September, and you're just beginning your shift at the flower store, which you work at for the irony. That kid, of course, is watching you as you unlock the door and step inside. Your cheeks and nose are red from cold, and you're wearing your favorite jacket. It's red, and has an 8-bit record decal on the front.

Man, you still can't remember that kid's name! It's really starting to bug you. How would you even know it in the first place?

Oh, that's right. You ran into each other once, outside the stores. Literally ran into each other. It must have been sometime around last December. Ironically, you were reading some story about a dude running off a bridge by accident (you never understood how anyone could be so damn stupid). The kid was carrying a large stack of boxes and probably didn't even see you coming.

Hardly an ideal meeting, but at least you'd kept your phone safe from snow.

"Sorry, dude. Should've looked where I was going." You forced a chuckle. Well, half-forced. You were surprised to find it mostly came on its own. "Dave Strider."

"John Egbert," he'd replied. John Egbert. That was it!

What a dorky name.

"Hey, you work at that tattoo parlor, don't you?" you'd asked, even though you already knew the answer.

"Uh, yeah. You work at the flower shop, right?"

Suddenly, you were embarrassed. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh." He wasn't laughing. "Ain't manly or nothin', like I care, though…" Damn, your Texan was showing.

John's smile faded and morphed into a look of poorly-concealed panic. Oh shit. Exit stage left.

You went back into the flower shop, mildly embarrassed. A little peek over your shoulder told you that John was still standing, unmoving, out in the freezing weather.

It's one of those days where it's cloudless and sunny, but manages to rain anyway. It's March, and this month marks your anniversary at the flower store. You have the day off today, since the owner of the store is arranging for some electrical repairs, so you decide to call your cousin Rose and invite her out for coffee.

You need some of her professional-grade advice.

Once mid-afternoon rolls around, you leave your tiny apartment and head to the little cafe in town where you asked Rose to meet you. While you walk, you watch people, one of your favorite pastimes. Looking at the people around you, seeing how they function, has always been interesting to you. Plus, the shades prevent you from receiving hostile reactions to your observations. It's a little annoying, however, that you constantly have to wipe the raindrops from your lenses. It's difficult to do while the glasses are still on your face.

You reach the cafe to find that Rose is already there, and she's drinking her coffee. You notice another cup at the seat across from her, gratefully realizing it's for you. You sit down without saying hello and take a sip of the coffee.

Two sugar packets and no cream. Just the way you like it.

"Alright, Rose," you say, after taking a few sips of your drink. "I need to talk to you."

"I had come to that conclusion already, but thank you for the confirmation."

"Shut up, this is important."

"Okay, Dave, what is it?"

"There's this guy…"

You tell Rose all about John. What he looks like, where he works, and how he's always staring at you. She listens intently, occasionally raising an eyebrow or two, sometimes nodding slightly to show you she understands. Finally, you finish your story, and gaze hopefully up at Rose's thoughtful expression. She thinks for another moment, opens her mouth, shuts it again, and thinks some more.

Finally, she seems to find the words she was searching for.

"Dave. I think this boy might have a crush on you."

You are not surprised. At least, you don't think you are.  
"That's not very helpful. I'm pretty sure I already knew that."

"And?" she asks, a smirk on her face. "Do you reciprocate his feelings?"

How could you? You hardly even know the kid! This is ridiculous. You feel your face go hot, and you know that if looks could kill, Rose would be fatally wounded. Despite that, she's still smirking.

Smug bitch.

You're still stewing when you turn your gaze to the door and he's there, he's right there maybe he'll come over and say hi? But it's only another half a second at the most before he's gone. You look back at Rose, slightly panicked, and her shit-eating grin is gone. She looks at you as if to say "Well, what are you gonna do about it?" and gets up from the table, exiting the shop and leaving you all alone. Her work here is done.

You go over your options. You could

a) Run after John and beg him to talk to you,

b) Visit the tattoo parlor and nonchalantly start up a conversation, like the cool guy you are,

or c) Pretend this never happened and put whatever feelings you might have aside.

Most likely option C.

But as you're heading to the flower shop, where you had hoped to immerse yourself in your work until your little emotional storm is over, you change your mind.

It's time for Plan B. Or...option B, at least.

With a little sigh and an air of finality, you switch your destination to the tattoo parlor, taking your gaze off your feet only enough to see John staring wide-eyed out the window. You smile a little despite yourself, and quicken your pace by a fraction of a fraction.

You can do this. You're a Strider, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Your name is John Egbert and _Dave is walking up to the tattoo parlor right fucking now_.

You skitter behind the front counter, almost tripping over your own feet. Your heart is racing and you don't know why. Okay, maybe you know a little bit.

You try desperately to clear your head as the door is pushed open. Dave walks in, a ghost of a smile on his face. You can't breathe. You can_not_ breathe.

"Sup?" he asks innocently, and your heart might just beat right out of your chest. His voice is just how you remembered it: cool, calm, and even.

"Hey! This is new! What're you doing here?" Did you sound too enthusiastic? Oh god. Ohhhh god.

"Just thought I'd stop by…I was thinking about maybe getting a tattoo."

"Oh, really? Huh, you don't seem the type, to be honest." Oh jeez, don't judge him like that…what is _wrong_ with you?

Dave raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, okay Egbert." He knows your name. "Just something small and ironic, to piss off my cousin. It's worth it just to see the hilarious look on her face."

You wrinkle your nose a little, against your better judgment. Fortunately, Dave just looks mildly amused. "You know, Egbert," he starts, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. You wish he'd call you John instead. "I think you're judging me. Not that you haven't had enough time for that already." You're not sure you quite caught that last sentence, since you're completely distracted by the fact that he saw right through you.

"S-Sorry! I'm not judging you, I swear! I just think…maybe you should sleep on it."

"Fair enough," Dave nods, the corners of his mouth lifting by a fraction of a fraction. Or so you think. Maybe you're just imagining it. It's hard to tell.

"I'll come back tomorrow, Egbert?" He says it like a question.

"You can call me John, you know."

"Okay, John." You suddenly feel warm. "And you can call me Dave."

"Right, see you tomorrow…Dave."

And suddenly, he's gone. You sigh, slumping over onto the counter and groaning. You did it. You're still hurting a bit over his girlfriend, but you did it. You managed not to make a fool of yourself. And somehow, you're sure of that.

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider and you're starting to regret leaving the tattoo parlor. If you wanted, you could've stayed. You could've had a whole conversation with Egb-John. For God's sake, there are a million things you could've said.

Well, at least you said you'd be coming back tomorrow.

In truth, you hadn't been planning to get a tattoo at all. It's true that it would piss off Rose, but it would hurt like a _bitch_. Not that you're afraid or anything. Tch.

Nah, you totally lied about wanting a tattoo. It was an excuse to come and check on John.

Why had he run from you like that in the first place? What did you do? Maybe he was just embarrassed?…

_Rose_.

_It was because of Rose._

It had never even occurred to you that John might've…misinterpreted your meeting with your cousin. Of course he'd be embarrassed; if any of your friends thought they'd interrupted a date, they'd feel awkward too.

You nodded slightly to yourself, deciding you would explain to John tomorrow what was really going on in the café.

Wait. You can't just…tell him. You have to explain without explaining. This kinda shit takes some tact.

You spent the rest of the afternoon planning out your visit to John tomorrow, pausing only to talk to the occasional customer. Most of your regulars were local teenage girls, who nearly visibly swooned following your every casual smirk. You couldn't say you disliked the attention, but it wasn't really your thing. You liked being under the radar, and this definitely wasn't under the radar.

Oh well. It passed the time.

Finally, it was closing time. You hung around in the shop for a while though, idly sweeping the floors while your mind wandered.

This time, it was you who watched John as he left his respective store.

* * *

Your name is John Egbert, and today Dave Strider is coming to visit.

You hope he wasn't serious about that tattoo, though. Maybe you can talk him out of it. You'd be way too nervous to give Dave a tattoo anyway.

When Dave shows up, he's cool and calm as usual. You, however, are quite nervous.

"Hey, Dave. You came." Oh my god, of course he did. Jeez, you imbecile!

"Pff, of course I did. You expected me to skip out on you?"

"N-no!" You blushed a little and turned away from Dave, more than a little embarrassed. "Whatever! Anyway, I'm not sure you should get a tattoo…"

"Yeah, I wasn't going to. I can piss off Rose without permanently dyeing my body. You saw Rose yesterday, right? I was sitting with her in the café…"

Your breath caught in your throat. She wasn't his girlfriend. Holy mother of fucking Jesus.

"O-oh, yeah, I saw her. She's really p-pretty." Oh god why did you say that.

"Hah, yeah, a lot of people say that. But don't waste your time, man, she doesn't swing that way. Not to mention she's got a pretty devoted girlfriend already."

"A-ah, I didn't mean it like that! Also…good f-for her…"

"Dude, no need to be so nervous. Something buggin' you?"

Shit. "Oh, uh, no…I'm okay. I'm just…a little tired! Yeah, that's all!" Nice save.

"Okay, man. If you say so. Anyway, I sorta noticed…you've been kinda staring at me?"

Your heart pounds in your chest. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I just… you always look so cool… how do you do it? I'm so awkward all the time…"

"Dude, no need to apologize." Dave punches you lightly in the shoulder. "I like your dorkiness." You feel your face heating up again. You're not sure how much more of this you can take. "Oh shush, Dave. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you shitting me? I always know what I'm talking about!" Dave crosses his arms and pouts exaggeratedly.

It's fucking adorable.

Suddenly, Dave drops his little whiny act. "Hey," he says. "Why don't we go get, like, lunch or something? Maybe tomorrow?"

Well then. Looks like he took care of this step for you.

"Yeah, sure, that sounds great! Did you have a place in mind?" You're grinning, any efforts to be cool long abandoned.

"Actually, I found this epic sandwich place downtown. I'll give you the address. Meet me there tomorrow at noon?" You hand Dave a pen and a scrap of paper, which he scribbles on while he's talking. "My friend Karkat works there, too. He's kind of an ass, but if you don't piss him off you should be fine." Dave finishes writing and hands you the paper and pen. He heads for the door, but stops and gives you a small wave before letting it swing shut behind him.

You look down at the paper, wondering if you know where the little restaurant is already.

Dave has indeed written down the address, but that's not all.

"turntechGodhead."

A Chumhandle?


	4. Chapter 4

Your name is Dave Strider and you're making an inhumanly high-pitched squealing noise right now. You hate that you're losing your cool, but you love that you're going out to eat with John. You hate that Rose would love the little meltdown you're having right now. And you hate that your bro is in the next room and probably loved that fucking shrieking you just did.

You are currently in a love-hate relationship with life.

"Hey, you okay in there, lil bro?" Dirk said, holding back a chuckle. "I'm fucking fine, Dirk! Leave me alone!" You were not having his shit today. But then he opened the door, and his expression softened. More than you'd ever seen it.

"Dude," he said quietly, "tell me what's up."

"No."

"Dave, I get worried if I can't tell noises of happiness from noises of despair."

You roll your eyes. "Oh for fuck's sake. There's no despair here, unless it's coming from you." Wow, that was weak. You're way off your game.

"Dude, weak. You're way off your game." "Shut it, Dirk." "What's got you all excited today, lil man? Come on. Tell your big bro."

"I am the living embodiment of the word 'fcuk'."

Dirk's eyes go wide, or so you think. Damn pointy anime shades.

"You got a date? Nice. She pretty?"

You stare at him and say nothing. You honestly just need some time to process your brother's psychic abilities, which he has obviously developed since the last time he read your thoughts.

"...He handsome?"

"Christ, Dirk. It's not even a date."

"I knew it." Dirk cracked a smile as you cracked your knuckles, feeling your face heat up a few degrees. "You never answered my question."

"No, he isn't 'handsome.'" Dirk frowned comically at this. "He's cute, I guess. In sort of a dorky way." The frown was replaced by a grin of equal ridiculousness, which you rolled your eyes at. This guy is all kinds of lonely, you realize. He's way too involved in your romantic endeavors. Which this DEFINITELY isn't! It's not a date!

Fuck, it's a date.

"Fuck, it's a date," you mutter, slapping yourself in the face. Hard. Ow. Dirk snorts, and you give him a glare. "Dude, shut the fuck up. I'm sort of a nervous wreck over here, in case you couldn't tell."

"Believe me, little dude, anyone could tell."

"SHUT UP!"

Dirk smirks and practically dances out the door, pulling it closed behind him. Good. One more word out of him and you would've thrown him out the damn window.

You roll your eyes and run your fingers through your hair, going over to your closet. You're gonna dress nice, but also the same as usual.

Trust me, it makes sense.

You pull on your classic record t-shirt and dark jeans, but you push your sleeves up to your elbows. You heard chicks dig that. Maybe Egbert's the same way.

You spend a grand total of three seconds looking in the mirror and fixing your hair. It's fucking flawless, so you don't have to waste precious minutes on it. You spray a light curtain of your favorite cologne in front of you and walk through it. Yeah, it looks fucking stupid, but you're not going to spend the entirety of your…date…suffocating John with the scent of "Fresh Mountain Air," whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.

It's 11:47 and you're heading out the door, hoping to God that Dirk won't stop you on the way. Luckily, the world seems to be working mostly in your favor today, so you make it out of the apartment with no interruption. You shut the door behind you with a halfhearted slam, as a sort of last "fuck-you" to Dirk. God, he's such an asshole. You let out a quiet sigh and head for the elevators, trying to control your slight case of the jitters as you rock back and forth from your heels to your toes and back again. Man, you have _got_ to get this shit locked down before John sees you. You bet he's the type to tease you about it and never ever let it go.

You take some deep breaths as the elevator descends to the ground floor, and succeed in calming yourself at least a little. You're feeling much better by the time you exit the apartment building, and halfway to the sandwich shop you're more confident than ever. It's not even a big deal. The kid's a dork. No _way_ you're gonna look any worse than his scrawny ass. Which you love.

Wait what? No, shake it off, Dave.

Good lord, you've gone crazy.

You've reached your destination, but emotionally, you're back at square one. Goddamnit.

You shake your head at yourself and push open the door. The little bell above said door tinkles with your arrival, and you scan your surroundings. Egbert's here already, and his face brightens when he notices you walking in. You almost smile. Not many people are so genuinely excited to see you these days.

You give the nerd a small wave and walk up to the order counter. As you expected, it's your grumpy friend Karkat who's waiting there for you.

"DAVE." His familiar loud voice fills the room. "Sup Karkat," you reply with a slight nod of your head. "I'm just getting the usual."

Karkat rolls his eyes. "WELL, I FIGURED, SEEING AS IT'S YOUR F- I MEAN FRICKING USUAL." You snort a little as the angry young man censors himself. Just goes to show how much he needs this stupid job. You suddenly appreciate your dull career as a goddamn florist. Compared to this, it's a thrill ride.

He notices you're amused and gets even angrier. "GIVE ME A FU-…GIVE ME A BREAK DAVE," he corrects himself again. "I'VE GOTTEN IN TROUBLE TOO MANY TIMES AND I HAVE TO BE CAREFUL. I DON'T KNOW IF YOU KNEW BUT I ACTUALLY CAN'T AFFORD TO LOSE THIS JOB."

"Nah, man, I know," you apologize, reaching over the counter to pat your friend on the arm. "Anyway, thanks for the sandwich."

"I HAVEN'T EVEN GIVEN IT TO YOU YET, IDIOT."

"I know."

You turn away from Karkat and switch your focus to John, who's still positively beaming. Cute…no, stop. Not now. He pushes the chair across from him away from the table with his foot, indicating that you should sit down. You do, and he finally seems to notice how widely he's smiling. He stops and blushes a little, looking embarrassed.

"Hi, Dave."

"Hey, John."

This is awkward as hell. Say something. Anything.

"So, you get any hot ladies down at the tattoo parlor?" OK, wow, not that.

John giggles. "Not really. Most of them already have multiple tattoos and aren't exactly sugar, spice, and everything nice. Well, maybe they're the spice part. Some of them are pretty though. A lot of them have really cool hairstyles, too!" Jeez. Simple question, complicated answer. Seems like that's how it works with this guy. It's funny. It's like his bubbly rambles balance out your serious, straight-to-the-point nature.

Though, maybe you don't want to be serious and straight to the point all the time with John.

Suddenly, you're jerked back into reality as Karkat calls both of your names loudly, signifying that your lunches are ready. The two of you get up from your seats and shuffle up to the counter to retrieve your food. Karkat gives you a smug smirk and hands you your tray. You reply with a warning snarl. "Don't you _dare_," you hiss at him as John practically bounces back to your table. "I won't fucking say anything, Dave. Jesus Christ, what kind of friend do you think I am?" he whispers, rolling his eyes. You relax a little, sigh, and head back to your table. John is, predictably, waiting for you to sit down before eating.

Such manners.

The two of you eat your sandwiches in a sort of comfortable quiet, pierced occasionally by a story from John or a question or quip from you. At some point, John sets down his sandwich and bites his lip, staring intensely at the table. Hm.

Suddenly, he speaks. "Hey Dave?"

"Yeah?" Your eyebrows knit together.

"Is…is this a date?"


End file.
